The Cuppa Conundrum
by LunarianPrincess
Summary: Molly is pushed into making her own deductions by a new girl at St. Bart's. The consequences are quite different from anything she ever imagined, and the repercussions more far reaching then she every thought possible.


Title: The Cuppa Conundrum

Author: LunarianPrincess

Summary: Molly is pushed into making her own deductions by a new girl at St. Bart's. The consequences are far different than she ever imagined, and the repercussions more far reaching then she ever thought possible.

Fandom: BBC's Sherlock

Pairing: Sherlolly

Warnings: Gratuitous Cadavers

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock! nor do I have any control over Moffat, Gatiss, Cumberbatch, or Brealey. Though I wish they were my friends!

Please enjoy!

- I O I - I O I - I O I- I O I – I O I - I O I - I O I - I O I- I O I - I O I- I O I -

- I O I - MONDAY - I O I -

Sherlock sat impatiently at the microscope in the morgue of St. Bart's, precisely at 3:07 p.m., barely seeing the formations of bacteria on the slide. Molly was supposed to have been there 7 minutes and 23 seconds ago. She was always reliably prompt, a positive attribute, among several of her other qualifications, which labeled her "Sherlock's Pathologist," as she was coming to be known. He resisted the urge to fidget restlessly, instead staring sightlessly at the slide currently positioned beneath the lens. Finally he heard the tell tale shuffling footsteps, a result of Molly's sensible flats instead of stylish heels, coming at a much faster rate than usual. He turned toward the door, disapproving purse of his lips and narrowed eyes conveying his irritation at her tardiness, his eyes widened as he took in Molly's appearance.

Her feet were fairly stomping on the ground, her face was drawn, she had been gnawing on her lips if the teeth-marks there were any indication, her hands were trembling as she set her bag on the counter behind her desk, when she turned towards him he could see the bright red discoloration of a burn on the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger. Her hair was disordered, hastily shoved out of her face, a few tangles here and there, and there were damp spots near the trailing ends that lay beneath her shoulders. Her skin was a mottled red, a result of a blush, from the peach sweater's (new, no pebbling of the fibers, faint marks from the hangers on the shoulder, a faint hole on the right cuff where she'd ripped the price off) neckline up to her hairline, damp with perspiration. Her eyes were faintly red and he could see the faint moisture that still lingered in the corners and between her eyelashes. The most obvious thing was the spreading brown wet spot in the center of her chest, and splatters on her long brown skirt, the scalded skin visible above the (slightly lower than usual) neckline.

"Molly you are 9 minutes and 12 seconds late." Molly gave a huff and turned around to grab her nametag before turning back to the counter to grab something from her the cupboard above her bag, completely disregarding his rebuke. His eyebrows knit as he watched her movements, jerky (angered) yet hesitant and cautious (a response to her injury), cataloguing her response, the tiny things given away by her movements, bearing, and the various evidence left on or about her person. "Molly I need the results from the body of Agostina Garces" referencing a body that had been a part of his most recent case. He frowned when she ignored him further, irritation climbing and tightening in the base of his skull. His eyes catalogued her appearance again, taking a deep breath and letting out his deduction.

"You were late because you took 4 minutes longer getting ready due to the new sweater you are wearing, and finding the lipstick you bought to match took longer than expected, you stopped at the café 2 blocks from St. Bart's the one with the Ceylon blend that you have switched to drinking. It was approximately 89 degrees. You were clumsy and burnt your hand, startling you into dropping your cup on your chest, causing you tears of embarrassment and pain, you cried before you tried to dry off with the brown napkins of the same café before stomping into St. Bart's to arrive nine minutes and twelve seconds late." His voice rattled off the accusations in a deeper tone than usual, his irritation edging into anger.

Molly swung around to look at him, her eyes filled with disappointment. She gave a slow, sad shake of her head before letting out a soundless exhalation of breath and stalking away from him, shoving the swinging doors wide and unsurprisingly turning left towards the staff room, where he knew she kept emergency clothes in a locker.

He sat back down at the microscope, ignoring the tiny voice, which sounded inordinately like John, which said he had been harsh. She was the one who had clumsily been unable to hold a simple cuppa. And why she'd gotten so upset when he'd pointed out it was just a spilled cuppa was a complete conundrum. He was halfway through the results of his latest experiment when he heard another set of footsteps hurrying towards the morgue. The footsteps were light, with no pronounced clicking, so not heels, the slightly squeaky sound of orthopedic sneakers, the short interval between squeaks indicated a short person. He was unsurprised when Molly's new friend from the nursing unit upstairs, Nell Carroll, stepped through the doors, slightly breathless.

"Molly are you ok? I can't believe that bitch did that!" Nell's exclamation was accompanied by the clatter of the doors swinging wide then closed, her darting eyes looking for Molly. She didn't seem too surprised to find Sherlock sitting at the microscope, though she paid him little mind as she looked for her friend. "Molly?" She called sweeping around and peering around confusedly.

"Excuse me?" Nell, turned toward his voice, and he saw that she had splatters on the right shoulder of her scrubs, pale purple today, with zigzag stitching in bright blue around the seams. Sherlock noted it was the same tea as on Molly's sweater. His eyes narrowed as he picked out Nell's morning, shower, spritz of citrus perfume, tube to the café where she met Molly, scone crumbs on her shirt and around her lips, cheeks flushed from running after Molly. His brow furrowed as she began to speak again.

"Stupid new girl in reception, you've seen her I'm sure, Rachel, well Rachel was at DeMonte's this morning, and she was going on and on about you to Noreen. Bout how you're a freak and she hears all the dirt from Anderson and Donovan, and everything about that business last year, then she started ragging on Molly because…" Nell trailed off and her cheeks turned a bit more pink before she rushed to cover her pause "An…and just being a right bitch" Sherlock was puzzled as to what this had to do with if Molly was ok, though he had bristled at Nell's use of Donovan's derogative. "Well Molly was so irritated that she just snapped, she started calling Rachel out, then instead of telling her to stop she said you'd have already known all her secrets, saying that there was a hint of men's aftershave underneath her spray of floral perfume, and that her clothes were oddly wrinkled, and the shirt didn't fit right, wasn't hers, and weren't you wearing that skirt yesterday and then told everyone that Rachel must be sleeping with a married man, and Rachel threw her tea at Molly. So where is she, is she ok?" Sherlock processed Nell's rapid-fire words then asked the one thing that puzzled him.

"Why?" he was genuinely puzzled why Molly had thought that she should dabble in his area, though he'd like to get a look at Rachel, who hadn't been at her post at the front desk when he walked in this afternoon, since Molly's assessment seemed to be spot on. Nell gave a small sigh and just shook her head at him, the left side of her mouth kicking up sardonically. Sherlock was puzzled at her reaction before realizing that he misunderstood his query.

"I want to make sure the tea didn't burn her too bad, and I thought Moll would like to know that I called Rachel a slag and reported her, she's being written up as we speak." Nell's voice was full of righteous indignation on behalf of her friend, and pride in what she'd done.

"Oh, Nell, you shouldn't have called her a slag, what if she gets you for harassment?" Molly's voice only wobbled a bit as she walked back into the morgue, changed into a shapeless gray sweater and black trousers that did not look nearly as flattering as the earlier outfit. She'd also wiped her lipstick off, hastily, by the tiny smears left on her left cheek and chin, she'd also been crying. The burn on her hand glistened with burn jelly and Sherlock could see where the sweater stuck to the jelly no doubt leaking through the gauze on her chest. He catalogued all these things as she walked over and sat on the stool behind her desk. Nell skipped over leaned over Molly's desk and kissed her friends forehead.

"She shouldn't have said what she said, I'm sorry, and she's wrong in any case, see you later this afternoon? We still on?" Nell only waited for Molly to nod before rushing out with a quick goodbye to Sherlock. He nodded after her rapidly retreating form, surprised that she had spared him a farewell, not many people in the hospital tolerated, let alone cared for, his presence there. Sherlock turned back to Molly, cataloguing everything and realizing that the thing he had missed, that tiny one thing that he always seemed to miss, was that she hadn't caused the burn that had spread across her chest, and most likely the burn on her hand had come when her drink sloshed over her hand in a defensive motion to get away from the thrown tea. Seldom did Sherlock Holmes find himself at a loss for words, but here he was with no idea what to say to Molly. He had apologized to her once, almost 2 years ago, at Christmas and he was loathe to do it again so soon.

"What do you need?" Her voice, instead of trembling or breathless with excitement was a tiny bit bored, and had the slightest edge to it. He stayed silent for a moment, before handing her the paperwork on Agostina Garces that he had swiped from her desk while she had been changing. Sherlock watched as Molly gave a wry chuckle before returning to her desk and picking up the clipboard that held "the newest residents" as she liked to say. She ignored him as she checked off the bodies from her list in the freezer inventory. He sat back down on the stool at the microscope, mentally cataloguing the details from Molly's autopsy of the Garces body, but as he did he noticed the amount of detail, nearly double the other pathologists' reports. He cocked his head as he watched Molly set out the instruments and grab a pair of gloves.

"Is she really sleeping with a married man?" Sherlock was slightly surprised when it was his voice that suddenly filled the small space with the question he'd asked himself, but Molly looked downright stunned. She took a deep breath and set the gloves down on the small tray before slowly walking towards him. She stopped a few feet away, knowing that he hated to feel crowded by people.

"I think she is, if she were dating she'd have told us, bragged about him, if it was a single bloke for a one night stand, she wouldn't have had a shirt that wasn't hers, unless he lived with his mum or sister, but who'd let some girl steal their family's stuff, especially if they weren't planning on seeing her again, and the shirt she was wearing was about 2 sizes too big, and not something she'd normally wear" She waited for him to tell her that was stupid, but when he remained silent she removed her gaze from his third jacket button to glance at his face. She was frozen when she saw the intensity of his scrutiny.

She stayed frozen when his hand lifted and barely touched a spot just below her jawline near her right ear. "You missed a spot, just here, do you have the burn jelly?" His voice was softer than usual, the deep growl causing goosebumps to spring up on her forearms. She nodded wordlessly, grabbing the small jar she'd nicked from the supply cabinet. She turned towards the large mirror that hung behind the wash-up sink in the corner. She'd just unscrewed the top, set it down on the counter beside the sink, glancing down to make sure it didn't fall into the sink, and was reaching to dip into the clear jelly when long, pale fingers grabbed the pot.

Her gaze flew to the mirror where his impossibly tall form was reflected, squarely behind her. She stared, riveted, as he scooped up a tiny bit with his middle finger and was carefully daubing it on her neck, his eyes completely focused on the bright red spot on the side of her neck. She let out a little moan as his finger slid against her neck, she blinked in surprise and in that time he had set the jar next to the lid and was striding out of the morgue, grabbing his scarf and coat in a single sweeping motion. Molly stared at her reflection, sighing in resignation, she closed up the burn jelly and tossed it on her bag before returning to the slab and slipping the gloves on before beginning Elana Daskas autopsy, though she'd already deduced the COD.

- I O I - THURSDAY - I O I -

Not two days later, Molly was almost elbow deep in the body of the young woman on her slab, Allison Midson, victim of a jealous ex-boyfriends rage. She had meticulously logged the info about the puncture wound, the defensive wounds, and the various trace evidence left on and about the body. She had started with the y-incision and was currently removing the organs en bloc and cataloguing the various abnormalities and items of note, she was just starting to remove the right lung from the block when she heard a couple shouts very far off and then the hollow echoing of footsteps in the hallway outside her morgue. She had pulled her hand and scalpel away from the body, in order to avoid damage from a sudden movement.

She was already looking at her doors when he swung through them. Surprisingly John wasn't with him. Before he even spoke she pointed at her desk, on which the paperwork on the supposed death by fright (ventricular fibrillation to be exact) rested. "There was poison," She stated as he swiftly catalogued all the information presented in her report. He nodded silently before there were swift footsteps in the hall, Sherlock ignored them and Molly figured John was coming so she turned back to her open chest cavity. The wordless female screech caused her to drop her scalpel before she had even got near the body to make the next incision. She spun around to find Rachel bearing down on her, spouting vitriol at the top of her lung.

Molly only caught a few words, her name, Sherlock, slag, liar, and was beginning to back away from the woman's wrath when she came up against an immovable object, she wasn't far enough away from the slab to have run into the counter, tilting her head just the slightest, to be able to keep Rachel in view and see behind her, she was surprised to see Sherlock standing behind her viewing Rachel with undisguised contempt. Luckily Sherlock's close proximity to her halted Rachel's progress, otherwise this confrontation might have turned physical. Behind Rachel came two other employees from the hospital, HR Manager Regina Musgrave and Rachel's supervisor Nathan Paget. They both looked shocked at Rachel's antics.

"Silence." Sherlock's smooth baritone immediately cut through Rachel's impassioned rant. But it only halted the verbal assault momentarily.

"She did this! I know she did! Your stupid pet diener is not going to get me sacked! Just cause she's willing to open her legs and the morgue doors for you doesn't mean she can get away with everything!" Molly was sure her face was near purple in embarrassment, she was horrified that Ms. Musgrave had heard Rachel's cruel (completely erroneous and unfounded, mind you) accusation. She dropped her head in embarrassment, barely noting that Sherlock had not only stepped behind her (in a show of solidarity?) but also put his hand on her right shoulder. The solid weight on her shoulder only served to make the whole situation more surreal.

"Ms. Howells I am sure you were relieved of your position due to your attempted embezzlement with Richard Brunton, the, now former, accountant of St. Bart's." Sherlock's blase tone caused Molly to gasp into the silence. "The money was recovered, but your services are no longer required at this hospital." With that statement made, he went to turn away from her, leading Molly away. Molly's eyes widened as she saw Rachel's torso tense and shift, her right arm swinging wide. Molly cringed away, eyes closing as she anticipated the stinging slap about to be delivered by the incensed woman. When the slap did not come she cracked her eyes open to see that Rachel's wrist was firmly trapped in Sherlock's long fingers, she could feel the anger radiating from behind her. "Doctor Hooper was not responsible for your being let go, I was, and if you ever raise your hand to her again, you can be sure you will not lose only your job," Sherlock's voice was a quiet growl, filled with implication. That tone was dangerous, and Molly blushed again as Ms. Musgrave and Mr. Paget stared at the two of them with undisguised interest.

By that time security had shown up, and they escorted the defeated Ms. Howells out with the other two hospital employees. Sherlock went back to his report before heading to the microscope to inspect the trace left on Brenda Tregennis's body and clothes. Molly opened her mouth to speak, only to find she had no words, she snapped her mouth closed, only for it to pop open with inspiration again. Despite the fact that when she went to speak no sound came out of her mouth, words filled the silence.

"She was sleeping with him, thats how it started, and he wasn't married, he lives with his cousin, Marie." Her mouth which she had closed at his words fell open again. Her brain quickly processed that info then connected the pieces. She nodded at him, staring at him while he seemed resolutely engrossed by whatever was present on that slide. She was desperate to find out how he'd figured it out. And why? What could possibly have interested him about this? St Bart's wasn't a huge interest to him, other than his continued access to the morgue and use of the lab, he hadn't shown any interest in the oldest hospital in England. In his own, self-described scale this case was a 2 or 3, 4 at most, what had prompted him to uncover Rachel's illegal activity.

Shrugging she returned to her desk, shucking the bloody gloves she still wore. She took a steadying breath before taking a sip of the tepid tea that still sat in the cardboard cup at the corner of her desk. Making a face she nearly groaned at the awful taste before dropping the cup in the bin. She grabbed a fresh pair of gloves intending to return to the Midson body but let out a little shriek when she turned to the slab and he was standing over it, sans coat or scarf (which he'd been wearing when he'd come in). He just stood watching her, his eyes flicking the way they do when he's making his signature deductions.

"The burns are healing nicely." This innocuous statement is accompanied by an intense once over of her décolletage. His intense scrutiny causes her cheeks to flush and her nipples to tighten, she hopes the fabric of the low cut teal sweater is thick enough that she isn't showing through. She nearly flinches when his hand reaches out to her throat, but she restrains the impulse and tilts her chin away from him, giving him a look at the spot she'd missed when Rachel had thrown the tea at her. She knew it was a bit darker than the rest of her burns, a tiny misshapen oblong just below her jawline.

"Why?" She let the word slip out before she knew it. His fingers froze on her throat, and when she turned her face back to him his eyes were narrowed just slightly, an expression of concentration on his face.

"Thats what I want to know," His response puzzled her and she knew the many signals she was telegraphing to him about her confusion. "Why did you deduce Ms. Howells?" His voice was softer, softer than usual and she let her eyes slip closed as her cheeks burned in shame as she remembered Rachel's careless words, then Rachel's pointed barbs after she'd stood up for Sherlock.

"She... maligned you, said you were a selfish freak who got off on attention so you faked your own death. And when I... Responded... She attacked my character, made derogatory and inaccurate remarks about our relationship" she stuttered here and sought to correct herself. "I mean our professional relationship." Her voice gave out here and she opened her eyes only to stare at the open body between them, mentally cataloguing each artery, organ, and anatomical detail.

"Nell told me what Rachel Howells said, you are not promiscuous, you do not degrade yourself for males, I do invite attention, and require admiration for my genius, so why did her comments affect you so?" Sherlock's clinical assessment and breakdown of Rachel's comments made Molly want to laugh but the chuckle caught in her throat when she raised her eyes to meet his, his eyes the clearest grey she'd ever seen, so full of intense want, the desire to deduce her motivation she was sure.

"Sherlock, its not something that's easily understood, even knowing that she is deliberately spouting falsehood, it was... it hurt to hear myself described that way, it angered me to hear her comments about you," His lips pursed as his brow tensed for just a moment before he gave a short nod. His hand, which had been lightly stroking her throat, unnoticed by both of them fell from her skin to hang at his side. "You're my friend, I was doing what I thought necessary to protect you," With her rationalization out she picked up her scalpel and began to meticulously cut the hilum in order to remove the lung. When Sherlock hadn't moved by the time she'd completely severed the lunch from the root, she set her scalpel down and looked at him. He was deep in thought and she smiled wryly at him.

"I think I understand. When I discovered that she'd thrown the tea on you, I was... Agitated." He paused here and she stripped off her gloves again, moving away from the slab and to the side of him in the open space between the microscope and the examination tables. She faced him as he began to speak again. "I had missed the angle of the spill, I had inaccurately deduced the reason for your tardiness and I felt frustrated, I took steps to ensure you would not be detained in such a way again. And it will be easier for me to gain access here when they have a new receptionist" Molly quickly examined his words.

"You got Rachel fired because she made me late?" Molly was struggling with being completely hacked off that he'd gotten a woman fired just cause he'd been delayed that 10 minutes, and melting at the fact that he'd, in his own weird way, tried to help her.

"Ms. Howells was embezzling, not well, but she was engaged in illegal activities and it was beneficial to expose this behavior to specific hospital staff." Molly would have accepted this explanation had she not been staring so intently at Sherlock's face. She watched as the skin around his eyes tightened, as his eyes flicked away from her gaze, and his adams apple bobbed and clicked audibly on his swallow.

"Is there any other reason you exposed Ms. Howells' activities to Ms. Musgrave?" Molly tried to viciously tamp down that bit of hope that had been saved and nurtured since Sherlock had first asked her for her help all those months again, first said she counted. She watched his internal struggle, grateful that she had spent so much time obsessed with the man, cataloging his minute response, or she might have missed the struggle entirely.

"It did not... sit right... with me that you suffered in your attempt to defend me. I did not like that she injured you, that I was responsible, indirectly, for your tardiness." Molly considered his words carefully and stepped closer to him, purposefully invading his bubble, and watched as his eyes widened. Yet he did not take a step back, did not rebuke or rebuff her, he simply adjusted to her proximity. "I did find it surprising that you deduced her, rather than relying on emotional arguments or responses," Molly finally realized that Sherlock was not only confused by why she'd defended him, but how, as well.

"You've rubbed off on me, I notice much more than I used to, I try to pay attention to little details like you, I'll never be more than a novice, but it does help with my examinations and reports," She paused here, wondering whether or not to reveal this last bit, finally she took a breath and let it out. "It made me feel more powerful that Rachel, to know the things she didn't think anyone else knew." She flinched when Sherlock grabbed her wrist, but she didn't try to reclaim her arm, just watched as he pressed his fingers to the skin over her vein. She could see him counting as she stared up at him, knowing that her pupils were dilating as she stared at this impossible man.

She saw him take in her signs of arousal, infatuation, confusion, and waited to see what he'd do with the data she'd provided him. She watched him scroll through various responses, but the one he chose shocked her to her core. His swift descent caused her to inhale sharply, leaving her lips parted as he pressed his own against her mouth. She barely had time to press back, to respond to the feeling of his mouth against hers when it was shattered by the sound of his mobile. She just barely managed to stop her groan of disappointment. He lifted his head and immediately headed over to where his coat was draped over the back of a chair. He pulled out his mobile and after reading the message text he tapped out a response before swinging his coat on and dropping the mobile in the pocket once again. He picked up his scarf and stepped back towards her, where she stood frozen in place with her first two fingers pressed lightly to her lower lip in shock.

"Case." he said quickly and she nodded wordlessly, the fingers slipping off her lips, though her hand dropped to her chest where her heart was pounding. The slight impact on her burned, exposed skin caused her to hiss in a breath, Sherlock took this in, his eyes narrowing on her in-drawn breath of discomfort. "In the future, assess the risk of defending me needlessly, alert me to the threat and I will take care of it," With that statement Sherlock had completely dazed Molly Hooper, but what really gobbsmacked her was when he leaned down after that statement and sealed his lips over hers again, she was so frozen in shock she couldn't even throw herself at him, wrap around him like lichen on an old tree, or even just respond. She was still standing motionless half an hour later when Nell came to meet her for their afternoon jaunt to the tea cart.

She was halfway to the cart with Nell, still mulling over everything when her pocket buzzed. She pulled out her cell phone and was shocked when she opened her new message.

_If convenient, 221b Baker Street. 8pm. Bring coffee. ~SH_

She shook her head and wondered whether Nell had slipped hallucinogens in her morning cuppa when her pocket buzzed again.

_If inconvenient, Bart's at 8 pm. Prepare coffee. ~SH_

Smiling secretly to herself, and ignoring Nell's insistent queries, Molly fired off a quick text response, and resolved to bring coffee to Sherlock this evening at precisely 8 p.m. She would have her answer once and for all, and perhaps, there would be more in it for her than just a simple cuppa.

- I O I - I O I - I O I- I O I – I O I - I O I - I O I - I O I- I O I - I O I- I O I -

Just a tiny ficlet (my first for the Sherlock fandom), but I hope you enjoyed it. Just a little plot bunny that hopped into my life and wouldn't let me be until I finished it.

Please, please review! I'd love to know what you thought of my characterizations. I know the ending is a bit rushed, but inspiration was fast waning. Hope they weren't too OOC, please give me feedback if they were.

BTW Diener = Morgue attendant in the UK


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